


Dateline:1918 (Chapters 3 & 4)

by Noir_Dix



Series: Dateline: 1918 [2]
Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Blood drinkers & Plague bringers, Boot polishing, Copia Gaiden, F/M, Fantasy, Ghost non-canon, I think that's it..., Knob polishing, Oh! And smoking., Other, there will be smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-12 20:14:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16878474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noir_Dix/pseuds/Noir_Dix
Summary: The next installment... kept  separate, because: smut, (second chapter).I'm on Tumblr, if y'all wish to inform me of my weirdness: https://the-pomegranate-cassock.tumblr.com





	1. (Chapter 3)

The night was damp and cold. It had been raining all day, and the field was a muddy mess.  
The chaplain had risen at sunset and put his uniform back on, leaving his great coat behind. He then trooped to the nearest village.  
He sought an ancient church. It had been bombed and was half-burned; its elderly vicar long since gone.  
But, rumor had it that a sexton had turned up recently.  
Half of the big oak front door whined, announcing his entrance. The smell of smoke was pervasive.  
"Mary?" he asked, before raising his voice, "Mary Goore?"  
A shadow emerged.  
"Cardinal."  
Mary was a pale man of slight build. His short hair was a chopped-up mess, which the chaplain suspected was dyed, as it looked like someone had dumped his boot polish on it.  
He had never seen it not-black, though.  
"To what do I owe this honor?" Mary asked, snarkily.  
"Nineteen bodies."  
He blinked before giving a low whistle.  
"Glad to hear you're eating well."  
The chaplain smiled, just slightly.  
"Indeed."

Dix was awake to see the chaplain leaving his coat for her.  
She had had half a mind to remain a rat, and try to crawl up in one of the sleeves.  
It was miserable out, and she was beyond tired.  
Damn the man and his weird "experiments".  
She sighed and brought the mist to drop her guise. She buttoned the coat where she could, and pulled it tightly around herself...  
And wished, not for the first time, that she had some shoes.

The chaplain sat at the front of a cart, with the sexton beside him, effortlessly guiding the pale white horse before them.  
Upon reflection, Mary was a rather handy revenant. One of these days, they might have to promote him.  
He knew that Dix would be keen.  
"When are you going to get back to The Church?" he asked, conversationally.  
The chaplain gave him a black look.  
"It's a valid question."  
"You will be apprised of any new developments, as always."  
"Yes, Master." he said, pulling the cart up to the ruined tree.  
"Don't call me that." the chaplain grumbled, as he hopped down.

And so, they began loading up the sad, soggy corpses. Scavengers had braved the earlier rain to make off with anything of remote value.  
It took more than an hour to complete their task.  
The horse tried to spook anytime the chaplain drifted near.  
Dix lingered at the  front of the barn, not venturing out into the mud.  
He frowned at the state of his tall boots, before turning to head for the building.  
He came in on a somewhat inappropriate scene.  
Mary tucked a bit of her hair behind one ear, and frowned upon finding some hay.  
"Oh, no, Dix... Not rolling in the hay with _that_ one again?"  
"Among other things." she deadpanned.  
The chaplain coughed dramatically.  
They all stood around awkwardly for a few moments.  
"I'll put them at the back of the churchyard." Mary finally said.  
"Going to dig a trench?" the chaplain asked.  
"I'm not going to the effort of separate graves."  
The chaplain just nodded.  
Dix reached out to grasp Mary's impossibly pale hands.  
"Take care, day walker." she said softly, before pressing a chaste kiss on the other man's cheek.

They stood together at the front of the barn as the cart disappeared into the darkness. The chaplain turned to face her, rubbing his hands from her elbows up to her shoulders.  
"What now?" she asked.  
"Might as well report in; tell them where their men have gotten to..."  
Seconds ticked by.  
"Master?"  
He went still. She never called him that, unless he was making her come completely undone...  
Or, she wanted something.  
"Could we-" she fiddled with the lapels of his jacket, "get a room? I would so love to clean up, put some clothes on, stretch out on a bed..."  
He looked at her for a good minute, pretending to debate the matter. She looked terribly young.  
You wouldn't know that she was over 200 years old.


	2. (Chapter 4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here be the smut.  
> 

A short while later, the chaplain settled comfortably into a tattered old chair. He had built up a roaring fire, and pulled out his cigarette case. He had brushed down his boots, but still was not pleased.  
She had gotten some water from the well outside and taken over the wash basin. His coat had been shaken out and carefully folded over for the night.  
He had managed to find her an outlandish lavender flannel nightgown. The thing had so many ruffles, it reminded him of curtains... but, she was just happy that it was soft and warm.  
She sat at the end of the bed, brushing her long, damp hair.  
"Come sit by the fire, pet."  
"There's only one chair." she said.  
"I can share." he said, setting the cigarettes on a side table.  
"I'm sure."

But, she came over, and he pulled her onto his lap.  
"Silly woman. Are you trying to catch your death of cold?" he asked, taking the brush from her and working it carefully through her hair.  
"We both know that you were the death of me." she said.  
He stopped brushing.  
"Only that one time." he teased, nuzzling her ear before playfully nipping at her neck.  
She turned to kiss him. He tasted of red wine again, as he had managed to find a bottle somewhere, along with some bloody scraps outside the butcher's shop.  
He sang a bit as he finished brushing her hair.  
"...While you sleep in earthly delight, still your soul will suffer this plight, like your father in hell, what you've sold you can not unsell..."  
She shivered. He was in a _mood_ , to conjure the witch imagery.

After a few moments, she got up, went over, and got the wash basin.  
She set it on the floor, in front of the chair.  
He lit one of his cigarettes, that he rolled with pipe tobacco, with a match.  
"What's this?" he asked, as she sat down next to the basin.  
She did not answer, merely raising her eyes to meet his mismatched gaze, while dipping a rag into the water. She then set about cleaning his boots with small, circular motions.  
He leaned back in the chair. She looked up to catch him blowing a few smoke rings. He was developing a bulge in his pants that was downright alarming.

She went to get the polish that he'd also managed to find in his earlier scavenging.  
By the time she got back to him, he had the cigarette dangling from his lips and was unfastening his pants.  
"Careful." she warned, eyeing his erection.  
"I'm in no rush, my darling." he said, snuffing out his cigarette before taking his straining cock in hand.  
He still wore gloves... although, he had loosened the left one. He held this hand up, running his middle finger over her bottom lip.  
He watched as she took his finger into her mouth. She tried to tug at the glove with her teeth, before finally giving up and just pulling the thing off.  
He tangled his bare hand in her hair.

She began working the polish into his boots.  
His right hand had taken up a slow, lazy stroke, and he had a bead of pre-cum going.  
"I'm so enjoying watching you work." he groaned.

She finished buffing the boots so that they shone, and contemplated a quick lick... But, he started pulling at the buttons on the high neck of her nightgown with his bare hand.  
"Bed." was all he could manage, as he pulled the gown off.  
She gave him a look.  
"What do we say?"  
"Now."

He yanked off his jacket and belt. He followed her the short distance, unbuttoning the bottom of his shirt as he went, then pushing his trousers halfway down his thighs.  
"On your knees."  
He pushed her gently forward, so that she landed on her hands.  
He tsked her softly, running his bare hand along her slick folds.  
"Soaking wet already, my pet? Whatever shall I do with you?"  
"I have some suggestions-" she ended with a moan, as he climbed up behind her.

He started rubbing the tip of his cock against her.  
"Please." she begged.  
He stopped, poised against her.  
"Very pretty." he breathed in her ear.  
Slowly he slid into her, snaking his gloved hand around to play with her front, while his bare hand grasped her hip.

"Forgive me, father-" she panted, as he set the pace.  
"Yesss..." he hissed, grabbing the end of her hair and coiling it around his hand.  
"For I have sinned-"  
"YES." he gently tugged her head back.  
"I'm a child of the air-"  
"Oh, _FUCK YES."_ he began kissing and nipping at her neck.  
I'm a witch of the wind-"  
"Cry for absolution, little witch." he growled, before sinking his teeth into her neck and drawing blood.

She gave a surprised yelp, before he started licking at the wounds.  
* "Amo il tuo sapore..." he moaned.  
She clawed at the bedcovers.  
"Ohh, _Master-"_  
He gasped when she came, effectively ending him.

He sort of draped himself over her, rubbing his hands over her shaking thighs as her inner muscles finished working him.  
"Must lie down."  
He squeezed her tightly around the waist.  
"But, I like it here..." he murmured, before gently letting her down.  
She collapsed gratefully onto the mattress.

He leaned in to kiss her shoulder.  
"...flesh of my flesh; blood of my blood-"  
"Take off your clothes." she mumbled.  
"I beg your pardon?"  
She cracked an eyelid at him.  
"You're a rumpled mess."

He sat back, wounded. "I was trying to be romantic."  
"You were quoting 'Dracula'... _Again_ ."  
He sniffed.  
She smiled, rolled onto her back, and stretched her arms up over her head.  
"Am I your bountiful wine-press?"  
He gave her a look.  
"Or... your companion and helper?"  
He dropped the ruse.  
"You are."  
She blinked.  
"Take off your clothes. Get under the covers with me."

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I threw everything including the wash basin in this.
> 
> Keep in mind, the boot blacking took place with what was on hand.
> 
> Oh, and Megadeth lyrics, (Mary Jane).
> 
> * I love how you taste.

**Author's Note:**

> Mary's going to have a fine time, digging a trench for nineteen corpses with his spaghetti arms.  
> He's a Renfield, btw.


End file.
